


Between Gentlemen

by DameRuth



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode Tag, Implied one-night affair, M/M, Missing Scene, Rated teen for suggestiveness I guess but nothing onscreen as it were, Wordy intellectual Victorian flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameRuth/pseuds/DameRuth
Summary: A moment of shared comfort, post-"The Next Doctor"; SPOILERS![Continuing the Teaspoon imports, originally posted 2008.12.29. Ten and Lake were both so lonely - I wanted to give them something nice. Meaning each other, at least temporarily.]
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Jackson Lake
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Between Gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

> Jeez. Over on LJ I went and predicted all kinds of slash after the Christmas special . . . then the bunny bit and I wrote some *myself*. Funny how that happens, ain't it? *facepalm*
> 
> * * *

Christmas dinner went swimmingly -- so well, in fact, that the Doctor accepted Jackson Lake's invitation back to his temporary lodgings for a continuation of the conversation without hesitation. Once at the stables, Jackson produced an unexpected bottle of quite respectable vintage, and a quick rummage in his luggage provided a couple of glasses. By lamplight, the two talked far into the night, the topics free-ranging and whimsical, detailed and challenging.  
  
Sipping his wine, the Doctor considered Mr. Jackson Lake with approval. The man exemplified everything he loved about humans: the quick wit, the unpredictable cleverness, the sheer gusto for life that the Time Lords had always lacked. Jackson had been able to keep up with every careening change of topic -- and, indeed, had introduced a few directional changes of his own. It was rare to find such a mind, and the Doctor relished the experience. The wine alone wasn't enough to affect his metabolism, but the exchange of ideas was positively heady.  
  
Rosita had long since gone to bed, along with Jackson's young son. The Doctor could vividly remember the feel of the small, fragile life cradled in his arms, and was glad to have saved someone else's child. It was a small thing, but also a thing tremendous beyond words.  
  
The conversation had hit a lull, and Jackson considered the Doctor with warm, blue eyes. Out of nowhere, he said, "Thank you, Doctor. I don't believe those words can be said enough."  
  
The Doctor looked down and gestured vaguely with his wineglass. "We-eell . . ." He found himself flushing, a rare occurrence.  
  
"I mean it," Jackson continued firmly. "On a personal as well as a private level. You've given me new eyes, and I count that gift as rare indeed." He paused, as if considering. "In this day and age, we consider ourselves the pinnacle of civilization, yet you have shown me how threadbare our garments truly are. Before I . . . met you, I would never have seen past Rostia's skin color and social standing to the intelligence, compassion and courage within her. Now, under your influence, I cannot see anything else."  
  
"Yes, well, Rosita's a keeper. I hope you realize that. And I hope you weren't serious with that 'nursemaid' bit . . ."  
  
"I was," Jackson responded without hesitation, "in that I consider her to be the best possible protector my son might have. She is both fierce and relentless in her concern, like a lioness. But I must admit, I hope she will find some time to be my assistant in other matters. She already far outstrips most of my past students in her skill and understanding, as a result of her native intellect. With a little training, she will no doubt outshine them all."  
  
The Doctor smiled with genuine warmth and raised his glass. "I don't doubt she will."  
  
Another moment of comfortable silence as they drank to the truth of that toast, before Jackson sat slightly forward on the heavy leather chest that was serving him as a chair. "So many things different in your mind, from our view of the Universe," he mused. "Not just matters of natural race and social station. Also matters beyond the contemplation of a mere teacher of mathematics from Sussex. Matters of worlds, and stars, and species . . . and dancing partners." He drank again, but his eyes were considering the Doctor as he did so.  
  
That gaze woke an answering attraction from the Doctor, arising from a part of his nature he usually ignored -- and, to be fair, one that probably shouldn't be responding to this man, in this time and place.  
  
But . . .  
  
"Such things become more optional when reproduction is decoupled from social interaction," he replied, falling into the more formal cadences of his conversational partner. A casual shrug, possibly too casual, followed by a careful monitoring of Jackson's response, covered by pretending to watch the wine moving in his glass as he swirled it.  
  
"So I have . . . seen," Jackson responded, looking down at his own glass. "I know the judgments of my own time and place on such matters, but they seem . . . parochial. Infinitismal, in the face of greater truths. The greater connection of mind and soul. A healing in the face of loss. Such things, one might imagine, could be understood between like-minded gentlemen; such comforts evaluated on their own merits, with an understanding that they in no way attempted to devalue or replace things lost in the past. Or hoped, indeed, for solace beyond the moment." Jackson's gaze flickered up from his glass, and his eyes were dark and deep.  
  
The Doctor hardly dared breathe -- so much, balanced on the knife's edge . . . "A moment's solace can be a reward in and of itself," he hazarded, vaguely, though his face was not vague at all as he awaited an answer.  
  
"I know," Jackson responded, "Or, rather, I know that you know, since I have a peculiar understanding in that regard." When he smiled this time, there was something hiding behind the Victorian reserve, and it hit every raw, lonely nerve the Doctor possessed.  
  
"Such things aren't promises," he extemporized, making certain. "Sometimes, other callings are more urgent."  
  
"Yes," Jackson responded, very un-Victorian in his bluntness. "But again, like-minded gentleman can reach an understanding." He was so intense, so real, so immediate, so human . . . everything the Doctor adored.  
  
"However," Jackson added, backing off into a model of pedantic disinterest, "such things are rarely dreamt of in some philosophies. I fear I would need assistance in reaching beyond mere intent." His pedantry slipped, and his face was open, hopeful and intense. In this moment, he probably understood the Dcotor better than any other being ever could, or would. "Please, help me."  
  
The Doctor rolled his head back and simply laughed for the joy and perfection of it. "You've got me hoist by my own petard, and then some," he chuckled. "You know I'll never refuse those words."  
  
"Indeed I do," Jackson responded, setting aside his wineglass, and rising to his feet. His smile was warm and wicked and inviting. "Which is why I chose them. Doctor, will you do me the honor of staying the night, just this one night?"  
  
"Mr. Lake," the Doctor responded, taking the proffered hand and rising from his improvised chair, "I guarantee that we'll honor each other before the night is over -- and then some." His grin was met with an answering expression, and he allowed himself, just this once, to be led into darkness and comfort.

* * *

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This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=28026>


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